Automata Praefectus
by FallenKurai15
Summary: A city ruled by The Council, a hundred years after the final battle. Although Darkness roamed free the city lived in a lie, falsely believing they were safe from the Darkness. Vanitas Rue, a detective, teams up with Ella, a Defected Prefect, and tries to uncover the truth to save their home from the Darkness below, and to free the people trapped by the Puppet City. MMXVI
1. I

(-Ella)

What should have been a simple doctors visit turned into a nightmare for me. Holding that slip of paper, my world turning upside down in a matter of seconds as the words written on that paper churned and spiraled, making it impossible to focus.

It was possibly the worst day of my life, if not the world.

"Hey," He said, sitting beside me in the car, spoke softly to get my attention from the paper I was holding. I barely spared him a glance. "It's not the end of the world. I won't let them hurt you again."

This reminded me heavily of the place between sleep and being awake, drifting aimlessly into nothing before you hit something solid. I knew what was real, and what wasn't, but it couldn't see past those dark clouds hovering over their faces. It was always certain people, or certain things that were covered, mostly their hands or their eyes. I could tell who I couldn't trust from who I could befriend.

I sighed, resting my head against the velvet car seat as I watched the city pass by beside me, almost feeling empty and apathetic. The grey landscape turned to violent colors as we circled around the large wall surrounding our city, almost tracing around the line between living and knowing what was beyond this wall.

It was a limestone, wobbly colored wall that rose as high as the clouds and the mountains in the distance. If I were to climb up the highest building and peer over the wall, all I could see was a dark mist covering the other side, as if it didn't want me to see what was over there.

Besides the dark ominous atmosphere and the covered people, it was almost peaceful as if serene and quiet was a thing in this useless city.

The sky was clouded with a pretty view, the sun shone bright over my shoulders, and warmed me up from the chill settling in my core. The wind wrapped around my hair, loose over my shoulders, but it also protected me from my truth, and from my curiosity.

Whatever was over that wall was hidden for a reason.

This day was almost over as soon as it had started, but I was heavily anticipating tomorrow morning. With this loose blanket wrapped around my shoulders, a hot cup of the worst tea in my life in my hands, and the heavy atmosphere surrounding the truth shrouding me in a dark setting, I hesitantly write, and write and write about what is coming, and what happened.

He told me that it was going to happen anyway, and that he was just lucky to find me before anything else happened. As if this wasn't already the worst birthday of my life, it was also the worst moment to fall in love. Helplessly, in fact, but altogether rushing in like a tough wave crashing on the shore.

Just like this heavy atmosphere, that truth set in, and now that I had accepted this fact, it will only make my life worse.

If I lead up to this truth from the very beginning, it would only fill this entire journal.

I guess it's worth the price for their reaction.

But, I know when it started, and it started pleasantly.

The eve of my birthday was quiet, but it was also spent sitting in the passenger seat of a car.

Not his, but rather my guardian, who he only named Zeus, the man who had adopted me and five other children.

That paper I was holding gave my life the death sentence of ever hoping for a normal chance at life.

"It just means I have to work harder." I replied, setting the paper back into its envelope. "That's not true," He said softly, pausing between words to push his focus on driving. "Plenty of kids your age has this same thing."

"Not the same." I said.

"Ella, come on. I promise this isn't as bad as it seems. We're going to get you medicine for this."

"More medicine, great. Just what I need." I sarcastically remarked. I only heard Zeus scoff at my remark. "Young lady," He finally said after a small pause. "I am trying to help you. I took you to a doctor for a reason. We are going to help you as much as we can with this, but I need you to promise me that you won't fight us, okay?"

I didn't reply.

"Ella, come on. Please, don't do this now."

I sighed. "Fine. I will take the medicine if it will make you happy."

"Very good." He said softly. "We're almost home, just hold on a bit. We'll make your favorite for dinner. Sound good?" He reached over and squeezed my hand reassuringly, only to pull it back and grip the steering wheel, his white gloves stretched thin from his grip.

I only ignored his words, but I was more focused on other things than food.

I glanced periodically at the white envelope wedged between my legs, almost threatening me. This had to be a mistake.

Those thoughts continued even when he pulled into the small house I had called home for years, into my room, onto my bed. Even the soft, sweet smelling sheets didn't soothe my thoughts. I pulled my blanket over my head, closing my eyes as I tried not to remember those doctors words.

"Schizophrenia is a recurring thing, now heavily seen in teenagers over the age of thirteen." The voice was muffled, but I could hear his words through that whitewashed door. "Even if she gets medicine for this, she will still see those visions, and from what she told me, those 'clouds'."

"Clouds?" Zeus spoke softly, concerned but curious. "What does she mean by that?"

"She can see the fields around the others, but it's only present in a certain handful of experiments. With our luck, she will grow pout of it and forget about these visions. I recommend a heavy dosage of _Vitaili_ , and it will help her forget."

"Will she ever remember who she was?"

"No. She will never remember those labs."


	2. II

(- Vanitas)

As work piled up on my desk, the noise of the fax machines running and the sound of high heels clicking against the polished tile, I always questioned why I decided to pursue this career. I assumed it had started back when I was just a teenager hoping for bigger things, but I can always tell myself one thing: This was a mistake. Leaning back in the overworked chair, sipping coffee and recounting the dots on the drop ceiling. The radio droned on with useless, bullshit facts and stuff I already knew, and this was the point of the day that I always regretted sighing up for this mistake.

The lit cigarette in my hand worked its way past the filter, forgotten in thought as the smoke circled around my face, making me inhale it as I tried to remember those faces, and those names. Case files and numbers flashed around my memories, but nothing ever came up.

Except for one. I had recently paired up with another newer sleuth, a woman named Miss Doe, who by far was possibly the best and worst person for this job. I had watched her on her first day, still shaking in her boots, take down a man twice as big as she was with just her fists. Another day, when I had to corner and kill a spider while she screamed on top of my desk.

She was tough, smart and she knew her stuff, but the only problem was- "Good morning, Mister Rue!" Her bright voice woke me from my trance.

She was way too chipper for this job.

My eyes drifted over beyond my feet propped up on the desk, her short figure smiling with that bright, red lipstick. Her hair was done neatly, as always, and she again wore yellow today. I remembered that she mentioned it was her favorite color, but I never expected her to love it that much.

She set down a yellow folder, her neat handwriting written in the top corner with the case number. "Another file was sent our way, something about missing books." She said softly, setting a white coffee cup down on the top of my desk. I slowly lifted myself up, stretching as I tried not to fall back asleep. "Yeah, okay. Another to throw onto the 'never do' files." I sarcastically said.

"Jane snatched back the file before I could grab it. "Nope." She only said. "In that case, I will hold onto it."

"Why is it again that you have to meticulously file and organize everything?" I asked her as she took a seat in her desk next to mine. Her response was a displaced shrug as she turned on her old monitor, watching it hum to life as she started to focus more on work than talking to me.

I followed her example, noting how many papers I had on the desk beside me, which made me irritable. If I had my way, I wouldn't do them.

Still, though. I needed this job. I grumbled as I shifted through the loose papers on my desk, trying to organize the mess I had caused while I took the coffee cup on my desk in my other hand, sipping it bitterly.

This coming month would be my twenty fourth year alive, and it should hardly even be so. I've already done so much to take away my benefits of living and my liver is already shit enough from this. Still, I hate to disappoint.

I have lived in this Puppet city ever since I could remember. Being raised in the cruel and oppressing foster system they called 'safe' was an understatement to the real crime underneath the dirt.

I first joined sides with the wrong people, but somehow, I was credited with taking down one of the biggest criminal empires in the city, which by far, was a mistake. Everything I had ever done was a mistake, but this was possible the worst one out, besides this stupid job. Labeled both as a criminal and a hero, my original statement contradicted itself with my name. I don't even know whether to fear myself, or others.

My eyes flick back to the open files on my desk, casually glancing over the camera lying beside my foot, a broken shutter and a torn strap with the wear and tear. My beloved camera, the first gift I got when I turned eighteen.

Maybe this job wasn't so bad.

The workload ended when I finally had enough, and the big boss finally assigned me to do something besides sort through paperwork. He didn't give me any details, but all he told me was to, 'be careful' and all that jazz. Seriously, I only scoffed and went about my happy way, Jane following my tail per usual. She always had a knack for finding things that even I couldn't find, which made her an important detail to my lead. Plus, her strong will and sensible thinking came in handy.

The directions he gave me lead to a dead-end street, to which Jane and I had to go the rest of the way on foot. Grey buildings and empty grimy sidewalks only gave me a bad feeling, and I hated that feeling. I slipped off my coat and slung it over my arm, my camera strapped around my neck as I nastily followed the direction he gave me. I kept glancing down, trying to keep myself oriented from the maze on the paper.

"Jesus," I muttered. "This is like trying to find Waldo." I sighed as I flipped through my notepad again, jane's heels walking in unison next to my feet.

"It's not so bad," She said. "At least we finally get to walk around." I only grunted as I took one last look at the paper. "Finally," I looked past the walls surrounding us as I found the way again. "We're on the right track."

The eventual sounds of the sirens, the loud and angered voices lead me to the right path. We had made it past a darkened building, the lights off and the windows shuddered surrounded by caution tape twenty yards away from the entrance. Disgruntled employees, both confused and angry, protested the police fighting them back.

The images passed around of the man's body ran through them like a wildfire, and it was setting them off. I swallowed back my fear as I looked at Jane, sitting motionlessly beside me.

"Let's go." I whispered. Jane, still unused to the murmured crowds, only nodded as she slipped her arm into mine reassuringly.

"it'll be okay." I tried my best. "They're harmless."

I didn't have to push past the crowd, but not for the reason I thought. One look at my face and the world became silent again, gape and staring in both fear and shock questions tainting the air I breathed in. Their thoughts swam through me, all different reactions to my temperament that I tried so hard to ignore.

They parted like the red sea in waves coming to crash down on me, both silent and enraged that I was here. The last person they would ever expect, and I showed up unamused and ready to sleep it off once I headed home.

Once I flashed my badge, they let me pass, then the crowd started up with a different temperament and a different voice. Jane looked back, shocked and partially confused why they would act towards me like that, but by now, she probably already knew.

The building was cold and heartless, but there was something else tainting it. Sinister, and quiet but eventually luring me in further. It gave me chills as we were escorted silently to the crime scene, below the ground floor through the passage stairwell.

What greeted us was something from a nightmare.

"Ugh," I coughed, covering my nose from the smell. Jane followed my lead, handing me a small covered mask that smelled slightly of peppermint. Seemingly everone here had one on, but I only regrettably followed her lead as I slipped it on.

The smell of rot was evident and very much alive, as flies hummed around the poor sods bloated corpse, purple hues filling where his skin should have been. Dried blood stained the walls and torn cloth only covered what I assumed was his face.

I gripped my camera steadily as I inhaled one last breath of clean, fresh air. "Okay. Let's get down to it."

Even as I slipped on the gloves given to me, I could already feel the deep presence of a hateful crime of passion given to me on a silver platter. I can already see his cause of death; the thick rope tied around his neck in a contorted noose, tightly holding onto his skin.

Kneeling to get a closer look proved the same thing. Discoloration around his neck and hands gave away that he wasn't killed by choice. Deep bruises formed around his wrists and ankles, and his fingers were already stretched and pulled from trying to grasp that noose.

"The witness claimed that she found him while doing a routine checkup when complaints of an odd smell started to come from the upstairs floors of the office. He had been here for well over 48 hours, and the smell carried from the air conditioner." The investigator pointed me in the direction of the vents.

"They claim they had no idea how he managed to get down here, but from what we had heard and seen, it was an asphyxiated suicide."

I got to write this down. I pulled out my pencil from my pocket, kneeling beside the body and writing down what I could find. "Uh huh, and have you checked for an I.D yet?" I asked, not paying attention to any response. My eyes darted back and fourth from the corpse and the paper in my hand.

"No. We haven't found an I.D." He said, kneeling on the other side.

I took off my camera and held it up to Jane, which she took hesitantly. "Photograph anything you find." I ordered. "Yes, sir." She said back.

The flashing lights reminded me of other cases, but nothing matched up to this one.

Setting down my pencil, I braced myself for the gross part of searching the body for any clues on his identity. My fingers traced around the hem of his jeans, feeling for anything solid. Keys, coins, something soft. Damn it, his wallet was either underneath him or stolen.

I cursed softly as I thought to myself. "How bad is his decomposition?" I quickly asked.

"He's still sturdy, but Rigormortis had made it hard to move him-Woah!" He suddenly cried.

My hands pushed his full body as hard as I could, pushing him over to feel his backside, to which I found a very soggy wallet.

"Bingo," I breathed out, strained. As I let him back on the floor, I pulled the wallet from underneath, grimacing at the texture that was now inlaid on him. "Now, let's find out who our John Doe is."

I flipped open the wallet and pieced through everything. He had twenty dollars in his wallet, one of which was torn. He wasn't killed for money, nor was his credit cards taken. He had a savings reward card for a gas station, a business card and no I.D. I slipped the rest into the bag as I searched more through the rest of his clothes.

He had a ring on his finger at one point, due to the discoloration of his ring finger. Either he was married, or it was for show. I wasn't aware of anyone taking it off him during the removal process.

Jane took a photo beside me, sending off the flash as it hit my eyes, blinding me for a short few seconds before I focused again.

"Let's get some dental works on him." I said softly, pulling back his teeth. All his teeth were still there, a cap on his left molar. "Other than the bruises on his wrists and the tissue around his neck, I don't see any other sign of trauma that could have potentially killed him. Until we find out who he is, we can't cross him off our list." I pulled his shirt back down, tidying his image up before I stood back up.

"Let's get him to an autopsy immediately, then we can go from there." I pulled the gloves from my hands and pulled the mask off my face, still grimacing at the body left behind.

Jane stood beside me, looking through the images she took of the body. "What now, sir?" She asked.

"Nothing we can do. We'll have to report this to the boss then wait for the autopsy results. Meanwhile, we can start on the paperwork."

She sighed, giving me back my camera. "More paperwork."

I smiled. "It comes with the job. We can't cross this off as a suicide unless we find physical evidence, which I already have. That's at least two extra sheets of paper." Jane groaned in response.

"What do you think happened to him?" She asked me, walking back upstairs. Her hand was on the railing as she followed behind, trying to keep up with my long strides. "Well, I can't say right now, but it is obviously someone else's doing. Based on how he died, he was purposely hidden down there, without anyone's knowledge. Ruling out a robbery gone wrong and a deal gone bad, I can safely assume that this man was actually killed on accident."

Jane's voice faltered. "what, how?" She asked.

"Well, first off," I stopped at the stairwell, stretching my back softly as I continued. "The discoloration on the wrists were much deeper than on his neck, which meant he was tied long before he was killed. The bruises around his neck seemed to be the cause of death, but after I took a closer look, I found out that he was only hung after he was killed. There were no puncture marks or wounds of any kind other than the scratches at his fingers, which meant he also got into a struggle."

"Wow," Jane remarked softly. "That's incredible. You found all of this out on a first glance?"

I nodded. "it's all in the report. Come on, let's go give our story to the big boss."

Let's just say he wasn't as satisfied as I was.

The autopsy came back clear a few days later. They couldn't find any traces of poison, chemical or other wounds on his body besides the noose around his neck. They said that he lost consciousness before he was killed, so at least he went blissfully.

When he was identified, I swore I almost had a heart attack. Staring at the name on the paper, his original I.D, it gave me a very bad vibe.

"I know him," I said, looking up from the paper. Sitting in the office chair parallel from the Big boss, Mr. Knauer, who was the head of my unit. He had that big, kind of bulky look to him. Rough, and assertive, but he was a generally well-put guy. He bit the end of his pen as he stared at me with furrowed eyebrows.

"I know him." I repeated. "I-I used to be in his class."

"You really knew him?' he asked softly, and I nodded. "He was my best friend."

"Ventus, huh?" He said his name with earnest, rolling it around his mouth in questionable taste. "His records came clean. He worked for that business as a stock broker, but he went missing for a week before we found him."

"That's impossible. He was down there for two days."

"The autopsy didn't lie." He said truthfully. "I'm sorry, Mr. Rue." He solemnly placed his hand on the desk. "Work is work."

"N-No, we lost contact years ago. It's okay." I shrugged as I placed it back down on his desk. "Still, sir. This doesn't make sense. If there was no real cause on how he died, then what killed him?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out." He suggested. "Anyway, it's late. Go home, Vanitas."

"Yes, sir."


End file.
